How the turntables turn

Well! I’ve officially been in Spain and living on La Gomera for over one month (????!!!!!!!!!!), so it’s probably about time for me to write some posts about what the hell I’m actually doing here (teaching). When I was just an applicant stalking Fulbright blogs, I sometimes wondered why there was so little content about the actual teaching experience. I think I know why now—for starters, there’s a lot going on outside of work. So many side missions, cultural quirks, and thoughts about transition are also vying for space in my mind. I didn’t just start a new job—I started a new life (this sounds incredibly navel-gazey, but it’s true). Really, the Fulbright experience encompasses all spheres—professional, social, and private—and it’s unrealistic to expect one of those to outweigh the others. #MÁSqueunabeca

me thinking deep thoughts !!

Another challenge involved in blogging about teaching is that every day is entirely different. I had a nice and tidy mental summary of my first day all ready to roll, and then the sun set and rose again and I had a completely different experience. Finding a way to corral all of the unique experiences and emotions is really difficult. However, after a month on the job, I think my sample size of days is starting to inch toward “respectable”, so I’m going to give it a whirl. 

Here's a picture a fellow teacher took of me on my first full day in infantil classes. Not pictured: marker stains on my pants

In this post, I’ll start with the facts. I am assigned to teach English to infantil and primaria students at the only school in the Valle Gran Rey municipality. The school is small, but hosts students anywhere between the ages of 3 and ~16 years old, mostly from La Gomera but also from other islands and many different countries (Germany, Italy, Moldova, Venezuela, Cuba, etc) thanks to tourism. In Spain, children can basically start attending school straight out of the womb, but this of course depends on resources and availability. In this area, students officially start in infantil around age 3, move to primaria at age 6, and then to secundaria when they’re 12. After they finish four years in secundaria, they’re done with obligatory education, but the next step for many is bachillerato and then universidad. It’s a really interesting feeling to return to the beginning of the process after just crossing the finish line in my own education. I’m teaching ages 3 through 12 every week, and my youngest students are still a few years out from reading. I look at them and wonder if they’ll be pulling all-nighters to finish research papers in ~16 years. 

The school is charming, built around an open-air patio where all of the students have recreo (recess) together. A map of the islands is painted on the ground, and plants and student garden projects line the perimeter. The classrooms have big windows and balconies with a casual ocean view, and the walls are painted daffodil yellow. The students I teach begin class at 8:30 am and leave around 1:30 pm, with a ~45 minute break in the middle for lunch and recess. Factoring in my long bus rides, my days in elementary school were about twice as long. 

The hub of activity for teachers is, of course, la sala de profesores. I was told ahead of time that Spain takes teachers’ lounges seriously, and it’s true. Every teacher in the school must enter the room at least twice a day to sign in and out, but it’s also the only place in the building to get coffee, print, and store personal belongings and classroom materials. My favorite part is the community snack tin that always has an assortment of my new addiction: Gomeran cookies (more on these later). There are always people in the lounge, and it’s an unspoken cultural rule that anyone entering should always announce themselves with a greeting. Generally, when starting a new job, my approach is to be quiet as a mouse until I feel comfortable (former co-workers reading this will laugh), so this initially made me nervous. But I have to say, after spending an evening alone, it’s really nice to walk in the next day and receive a chorus of “buenos días!” 

The teachers at my school have been incredibly welcoming to me, and I feel very lucky to be a part of their cohort. I didn’t know this until recently, but small islands like La Gomera have a high teacher turnover rate because of A. isolated location and B. Spain’s requirements for tenured positions—at the end of every year, all teachers vying for a plaza fija (fixed position) must take the infamously difficult oposiciones (exams), and if they don’t do well, they’re sent to another school. I started at the school a week later than everyone else, so by the time I arrived, people knew each other and were relatively settled in. Little did I know, all but ~3 infantil and primaria teachers were also new to La Gomera! Many of them are Canarians in their mid-to-late twenties, and already have a group chat to announce plans for things like dinner and drinks. This dynamic is my saving grace—La Gomera does not have a university, so there are very, very few people my age around town. But because all of these teachers are new and looking to make friends just like I am, they’ll put up with my stuttering Spanish and pesky kid-sister vibes for the sake of companionship. I love them already. 

Snapshot from a typical Wednesday night spent poolside with my coworkers

Next up: my classroom experience!

hiking ALONE!! (SO EPIC) (NOT CLICKBAIT)

Friday, September 21st was my first day off after a wild and wonderful beginning to my teaching year. I intended to spend it creating a plan of attack to clear the last few ((painful)) bureaucratic hurdles of moving to Spain, since nearly everything important closes at 1 or 2 pm every week day, and I'm in school four out of five possible days to go. First, I went to the photo shop on the other side of town, where it's not only possible to make photocopies, but also to buy postcards, shop for clothing, have t-shirts printed, and surf the internet for 0.50€/10 minutes. The role it plays in the valley is sort of like how in rural US high schools, the English teacher is also the drama teacher, cross country coach, assistant track coach, and senior class advisor, among other things (Alana Cunningham of Fort Frye High School lore was all of this for me!!). 

Here you can see an example of the vast distances I must cross to do important things

After making an obscene number of passport photocopies, I hoofed it up the hill to the Ayuntamiento to retrieve a form, then stopped by the bank to pay for the processing of a different form. Since I'm the first and only Fulbrighter on my island, I'm kind of flying blind through these steps, which are undoubtedly subtly different from those my friends are taking on the other islands and on the mainland. The poor Commission team has been working nonstop to update our online guide with instructions, but they only have as much information as they can extract from the individual offices if and when they get people on the phone. Multiply the relaxed no pasa nada Spanish attitude by island time and you get ........... very little done!

I finished all of my errands much earlier than expected, so after buying some kiwis, plums, and a papaya from my favorite fruterías, I returned home and ate a big lunch. As the afternoon rolled on, I started to realize I had nothing to do and a whole empty weekend ahead of me. For normal people, this is a treat. For people who operate like Border Collies, this is anxiety-inducing. Lately, I've been trying to acknowledge but disregard my discomfort with free time by following the impulses I get to do things. So, when I looked up the valley and saw the marine layer breaking up to reveal blue sky, I decided it would be a nice time to go for a walk. 

Behind me...

And in front of me!

The very nice French photographer staying in the AirBnB room of our house had told me the day before that he had a great walk up to El Guro, which is the next village up the valley, tucked back into a cliff. He also mentioned visiting a nice little waterfall, and that in total the hike was about 1 hour each way. Perfect! I'd burn a couple of hours and then it would be dinner time, and I would bridge the gap between activities with more activity. I put on my old pair of running shoes and set out for a nice stroll. 

On the dirt footpath running up the valley, I passed multiple farms growing so many interesting things. I saw trees loaded with mangoes, avocados, and oranges, and saw a few vines growing what I think is maracuya (passionfruit).

Look closely and you can see everything I've ever wanted

After a while, I saw a staircase cut into the cliff on my right, and decided to take it. Much to my surprise, at the top was La Ermita de los Reyes, built in ~1515 and strategically hidden in the landscape so that pirates would not spot it from the sea. It was locked tight, but the outside was beautiful enough that I didn't mind at all.



I descended the stairs and decided to continue up the valley just a bit more to check out El Guro. It was siesta time on a Friday, so everything was very quiet. I had actually forgotten about the waterfall until I came across a sign that said "SALTO DE AGUA", and immediately hopped on the trail. The signs made it seem like it was pretty close! I started listening for rushing (fresh) water, which was going to be a sight for sore eyes after settling down in a place where it never rains.

El Guro from the beginning of the trail--already much greener!

Boy, was I wrong!! I hightailed it up that trail like a bloodhound on a scent, especially once the vegetation got a little more lush. Around every bend I expected to see the cascade, and was wrong each time. Time was passing slowly as it does when I'm totally alone, and 10 minutes of walking felt like an hour. The trail markers started to wane, especially once it became clear that the trail was actually just a mostly dry creek bed. I was freaked out about getting lost for a while until I realized that following the creek bed HAD to get me to the waterfall at some point. So I went on.

It was clear that this was a fairly well-trafficked path, with detours cleared around deep water and a couple of ropes and ladders engineered to help with tricky passes. But (probably since it's the low season) I only passed 7 people total (not counting three goats), all in groups heading back to civilization. It was quiet, with very little bug or bird noise, and it was dark, with deep palm shade making me forget the late afternoon sun still beating on the cliffs above me. I checked Google Maps a couple of times to see if I could tell how close I was, but after a while I lost service and then had to force myself not to feel like a forlorn subtropical Gretel.

There were a couple of times I came upon micro-waterfalls and sat down to rest, wondering if this could be what the signs were referring to. But they didn't seem spectacular enough to warrant a walk of this distance, so I went on each time (curiosity, meet cat).

After what felt like 4 hours of walking by myself (I have lost all concept of time so I have no clue if this is accurate), I sat down and weighed my options. Lacking constant positive reinforcement from trail markers, I was losing courage and steam, and was getting nervous about nightfall. It was only about 5 pm, but getting nervous about nightfall felt like the thing to do. I was seriously contemplating turning back and trying again some other day, but then remembered that mama didn't raise no bitc--... uh nvm you get the picture. So I GOT UP, put on a BRAVE FACE, walked 3 MORE MINUTES and what do ya know: there was the waterfall!!!!!!!!

As one German tourist put it on his travel blog, "it's no Victoria Falls", but it was beautiful and enchanting and worth the walk. Though it confounded my camera, the best part was the golden clifftop looming in the background. Amidst the cacti and sun, it's so nice to know that fresh water is coursing down from the mountains and jumping off a cliff somewhere nearby.

The walk back was much more enjoyable with a goal obtained and a familiar path to take. I filled the silence with the closest thing I know to birdsong--Lorde's 2017 album Melodrama--and enjoyed the ride. I did happen to get a few life birds along the way despite not bringing binoculars like a total fool. My favorite was the bouncing Gray Wagtail.

Photo by Thomas Varto Nielsen of African Bird Club

My multiple mid-hike crises paid off when I moved back into view of the ocean just in time for the sunset. As I descended into the valley via the winding street of La Calera, I stopped to buy some jamón flavored ruffles to carb up after the big game. I had, after all, walked 10 miles that day!

Mightily pleased with myself, I settled down for the evening feeling my favorite feeling: much more grounded! I Am Here!

pure & good

I want to start this post by acknowledging how incredibly privileged I am to be living in my little island bubble, roughly 3500 miles away from troubled US soil. This (and my status as the only American in town) affords me a distance and remove from the relentless bad news, and dulls the ache we feel when somehow, once again, things get even worse. I will never forget being in Panamá for the 2016 election. Though it was incredibly strange and disorienting to watch a national disaster happen from the outside, my cohort and I were so lucky to be able to grieve together and then move forward, distracted and sheltered by our host country 20° to the south. My host dad, Irvin De La Rosa, greeted me that night with a big hug, and told me I would always have a home in Panamá. Meanwhile, people who were on Bowdoin's campus that week told me the dining halls were silent and the atmosphere was funereal, and that I was lucky to miss it. I imagine things have been somewhat similar this week, as survivors and allies on campus grapple with the baffling decision of one of their (female) senators. I feel for everyone currently hurting in the United States, and wish I could bring you all here to find peace.

The best I can do for now is to convert my moments of peace into words and pictures. I've had predictable fluctuations in emotion thus far, though I've experienced far more ups than downs. I've only had a few days where I've felt forlorn/frustrated/truly lonesome, which has surprised me given my penchant for emotional volatility. There have even been several moments where things have just clicked, and I feel more and more that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. I think my first click came one night a couple of weeks ago as I was eating dinner on the roof of the house where I'm staying. I had made it up the stairs with my meal just in time to catch the sunset, and was thoroughly enjoying my food in the gloaming. Scanning the horizon, a faint shape caught my eye and made me sit up straight. At first I thought I was seeing clouds, but I quickly realized that I was actually seeing a another island across the pond!! I confirmed my suspicion using the helpful little directional pointer on Google Maps. Sure enough, I was looking at El Hierro, roughly 40 miles away! It's the smallest of the 7 major islands, and current home to my Fulbright friend Sadie.

Though I'd been on La Gomera for about 2 weeks at that point, it was the first time I'd seen another island from Valle Gran Rey. I suddenly felt so grounded and somehow less alone. Staring at El Hierro, I picked up one of the smooth basalt stones used to weight down the couch cover and held it in my lap, still hot to the touch from a day of absorbing solar radiation. The breeze was gentle and nightfall was slow. I felt so happy.

Since that night, El Hierro has made an appearance on the horizon a few more times, but almost exclusively at sundown and only when the air is very clear. Once, I was even lucky enough to see La Palma, which lies 40 miles to the north. My host Tanja has told me that occasionally you can even see the roads and lights on El Hierro. I look forward to it!

Other major good moments have come--unsurprisingly--when I've been in the ocean. When I arrived on La Gomera, I wasn't really in any hurry to get to the beach. There were too many things to attend to and not enough time. Plus, the main beach in town didn't seem to have any fun waves due to its semi-sheltered location. But when I finally went at the end of a hot and busy day, I was hooked.

On my first visit, I was a little apprehensive as I always am when wading into the ocean for the first time in a while. Though I've studied it for years now and have lived within close proximity for the last 4 years of my life, it always takes me a few minutes to relax and trust a new setting. I have to get to know how the floor feels under my feet, identify the wave patterns, and adjust to the temperature. I'd never been swimming atop black sand before, and it's definitely a little unsettling to look down and just see a dark void! Luckily, the water is typically quite clear, so I can always see my feet moving beneath me.

Now that my number of visits has reached double digits, the water greets me like an old friend. I've even started to drop my embarrassing dependence on plugging my nose when going underwater! There is no feeling like the first dive under a wave; nothing like popping up, refreshed, to see the horizon stretching out in front of me. Barring the occasional smooth stone wedged in the sand, the floor is even beneath my feet, and the slope is gentle. When the tide is low, pale striped fish swim around my legs. My students have told me there are large mantas, but I try not to worry about that!

Turns out the waves vary greatly at this beach. Some days, they're no more than slight changes in sea surface height that timidly break and retreat. Other days, sets roll in so tall and fast that all the kids scream with excitement. There's also some interesting resonance going on that I haven't seen before: waves roll in and break, but then pull back with such force that they often crash into the incoming line as reformed waves. It's not really an undertow (as I said, this beach is too sheltered for crazy rip currents, etc), but instead probably has to do with the slope of the beach and the tide. It's especially fun to stand at the node where the inbound and outbound waves meet.

After jumping waves, floating around, and attempting a few handstands during the lulls, I like to haul out and air dry on the warm black sand. Most of the conversations taking place at the beach are in German, so I zone out as the foreign words mix with the sound of the waves. The energy of the water hums inside me, and I still feel the push and pull despite my position on the sand. I can never fall asleep in public places, but I do reach the outskirts of consciousness occasionally, letting my thoughts trail off as my brain zooms out.

I always leave the beach feeling relaxed and renewed, dotted with a few more freckles (yes, I wear sunscreen!!!!!!). I often wonder if I'll ever be able to part from the ocean after this. For now, I'll just enjoy my lucky moment.

Madrid Moment

PREVIOUSLY seen on BABY'S FIRST EUROPEAN ADVENTURE: I went to Madrid!!

I wish I had a better opening picture for you, but this one pretty much sums up my experience--profoundly historical (I think), beautiful, blurry, and taken on my way to find food after dark. 

I arrived at my AirBnB in Madrid's center (after a flawless Metro commute 💅🏼) just in time to see the sun setting between buildings. I was sharing a room in an apartment with two other Fulbrighters--Fayeza and Sara--that I'd met waaaaaaay back in ~December in the infamous Slack chat I mentioned in my first post. After about a week of speaking to almost no one but myself, and just saying "perdón" to strangers a lot, I was so excited to see them. I rolled my SUPER LIGHTWEIGHT CARRYON-SIZE suitcase into the room and we talked nonstop for over an hour about our application experience, traveling, and placements. Eventually, the intrepid Sara (who had flown into Madrid from POLAND where she had been teaching!!) offered to lead me to one of her favorite places to eat, and I followed her like a lost puppy. At that point, I was way past hungry and running on fumes, and also lacking the patience for a sit-down meal, so her suggestion of Walk To Wok was absolutely perfect. I stood glassy-eyed watching two incredibly talented guys make noodle stir fries over roaring flames, and before I knew it I was vacuuming up my very own takeout box. At that point, my last 3 brain cells were begging me for anything but sodium, but I hushed them and happily carried on. 

The next morning, we got up and made our way out to Alcalá de Henares, the birthplace of Miguel Cervantes and home of 2018 Fulbright Spain Orientation. Though we had a good time hauling Fayeza's suitcases through the Metro stations, I was so thankful that burdened travel was firmly in my past. As we boarded the bus that would take us ~40 minutes east, we ran into a bunch of other Fulbrighters and jumpstarted the conversations that dominated Orientation: "Where are you from?!" "Where are you placed?!?!?" "Have you been there yet???" It was so great to finally put faces to names and so wild to think that all of us were on the same sort of precipice. Finally, my post grad plans of moving to a tiny island to work in a school weren't so crazy! 

After checking in with the Commission staff (who had apparently been studying our photos so they could greet us by name), we were treated to a fancy lunch at our hotel complete with ¡¡Spanish Wine!! I decided it was finally time for my immature taste in alcohol to put up or shut up, and thoroughly enjoyed a couple of glasses. Even at my most hydrated, well-fed, and well-rested I still have the tolerance of a flea, so the results weren't very pretty, but A Great Time Was Had By All. 

That evening, we were all scheduled to attend inauguration and other celebratory events on the campus of la Universidad de Alcalá, which was founded in 1499 and declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1998. We knew we'd be hearing from the US ambassador and program heads on a beautiful campus. What we didn't really know was that the campus was roughly a ~20 minute walk away from our hotel! I was ashamed of being repeatedly schooled in airport fashion by Europeans (why is American culture the only one that encourages looking like a slob while traveling??) and eager to try out a new dress, so I threw on some heels and a brave face, even when we were warned about the walk right before departing. Whatever! I could handle it. 

As a self-described "huge fan of ceilings", this ceiling really did it for me 

Spoiler alert: I could not handle it. After a long walk there feat. cobblestones and multiple hours of standing/mingling/ice-breaking, I was ready to tap out. When our Canarias group mentor apologetically told us that the restaurant was another 25 minute walk away, I cursed my poor decision-making and looked around for another person in my situation. There was no way in hell I could make it through that walk AND the walk back to the hotel in these shoes. However, I was also really upset that I was making myself look like Someone Who Hates Walking. I love walking!!! Please believe me!! I'm simply incapable!!! 

After a few minutes, I teamed up with two other girls in the group who were also in desperate need of a shoe change. We decided that we would walk the 20 minutes back to the hotel, change our shoes, take a taxi to the restaurant, and then walk home with the group. Looking back, it's evident that the Universe had a plan, because it was during this walk that I met my new great friend Sarah!!!! We talked a mile a minute the whole night and then stuck together for the rest of orientation. She's placed on the big island next door to mine, and has been warned that I will descend upon her as soon as I have my residency/ferry discounts. 

Once we had switched into our vastly more comfortable white sneaks (pictured), we were ready for a wild 10 pm dinner at Restaurante Rus. The English-translation menu they gave us speaks for itself: 

The rest of Orientation was a blur of Not Wearing Heels, panels, new friends, and important information. Also walking a lot. I call this the Fulbright Effect: 

When we had free meals, all ~165 of us spread throughout Alcalá and ate incredible amounts of bread and ham. In fact, the water making up ~50% of my body was almost completely replaced by bread and ham after just 4 days in Madrid. Though I was born and raised dangerously close to America's breadbasket, I am poorly conditioned for mass bread intake thanks to the loosely Atkins Diet lifestyle of my household. But when starving and in Spain.......

if you're ham museum and you know it clap your hands

The last night of Orientation closed with a formal cocktail where we all dressed up again but few wore heels. I had eaten a big lunch with some great program friends, so I wasn't all that hungry for dinner and decided to make a meal out of the hors d'oeuvres being served. Every time a waiter walked by with a new offering, I was on it like a cartoon character putting on disguises to get more free samples. The wine was once again flowing, and I think we were all feeling grateful to be together. 

Fellow Canarias TA Claire is placed as far away from
me as she could possibly be without leaving the
province but... distance means so little when someone
means so much < 33

Lillian and I thoroughly enjoyed heckling each other all week

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

When all was said and done, I headed back to Canarias feeling ready to engage. Though I'm the only Fulbrighter on my island, it's so exciting to think that I know people living on the six other islands, AND in basically every part of Spain. I mean, look at this network!

I'll let these two pointy trees close the show, because they earned it.

Blind Date

As soon as I sat down and slowed my breathing, heartbeat, and mind from the whirlwind 46-hour journey (COUNT EM: 46 HOURS) and took in The View To End All Views, I was sold on La Gomera. Didn’t take long. I don’t know that I believe in love-at-first-sight, but I am prone to… um.. throwing myself head over heels upon a good first impression.

I remember when I first found out that I’d be in Canarias, I began obsessively researching each island to create a ranking of where I’d like to be placed. Definitely not a great practice, given that it was completely out of my hands and I was probably just setting myself up for disappointment, but it passed the time until I got my carta de nombramiento. I read about each island’s quirks, crept through the streets on Google Earth, and followed the Instagram accounts associated with each. At one point, I came across one of the best sunset photos I’d ever seen, so beautiful that it stopped my scroll dead in its tracks. The location was Valle Gran Rey, La Gomera. The tiny, round, 14-mile diameter island slid into my #1 slot and stayed there as I read about its unique biomes and its strong connection to the traces of indigenous culture that escaped the fukú of Columbus. I’d like to say I thought my dream into existence, but I think I just got lucky. 

Photo by NASA's MODIS-AQUA satellite

Upon arrival, the bilingual coordinator of my school gave me the contact of a teacher, Elena, who could answer any questions I had that weekend. I asked her for a restaurant recommendation for an early dinner (apparently forgetting I was in Spain), and worked up my strength to walk across the valley to Playa de la Calera. The website for the restaurant she recommended said it opened at 6:00 pm, the sign on the door said 6:30 pm, and when I asked the hostess, she said it wasn’t until 7:00 pm. Okay! Knowing what I’ve learned now about Spanish dinner customs, I’m very lucky they’d take me that early regardless.

As I waited for 19:00, I wandered through the streets, going in shops and getting a feel for this specific part of the valley. The entirety of Valle Gran Rey is so small it would be considered no more than a town in the States, but there are distinct little sectors with their own names and features. As soon as I understood that, I was oriented. It was even easier than orienting at Bowdoin, which basically just required knowing where the Polar Bear statue was located. Definitely helps to have the ocean as a border. God help me in Madrid. 

I stopped by the main beach in town and planted my feet in black sand for the first time. I was so excited!!!!! Even long after the sun’s intensity had peaked for the day, the sand was hot on the bottoms of my feet. The water was cool (thank you North Atlantic gyre!!) but not cold (thank you, low-latitude sun!!), and the contrast of the white foam against the dark sand was so beautiful. 

Finally my time came, and I sat down to a meal of fried pork and vegetables. It was not a plato típico, but it was one of the best meals in town according to Elena. I was beyond famished at that point and eating at breakneck speed—I figure I probably looked like Eleven from Stranger Things when she walks out of the Upside Down and into Benny’s restaurant (the sole purpose of this reference is to make my brother happy). Going against Spanish custom, I asked for the check right away and walked home alongside the ocean as the sun set. The waves crashed against the smooth, round rocks that line much of the coast, producing an amplified sound and rhythm as it pushed them up and pulled them back. 

Predictably, I fell deeply and profoundly asleep that night for 11 hours straight. I woke up so dehydrated that my vision was blurred, which would’ve been terrifying if A.) this hadn’t happened to me before while traveling and B.) I hadn’t worked at an ophthalmologist’s office this summer (I love you The Eye MD’s!!!!). I chugged some water with electrolyte powder, put in some lubricating drops I scored at the office, and I was good to go. After having a photoshoot with my first Canarias papaya for a series on my instagram (please validate me @phoebelinnea22), I went out to explore again. 

With fresh eyes, my new home was even more beautiful. Every step showed me a slightly different angle of the cliffs, and every turn presented me with 10 photos I had to take. To get anywhere in a reasonable amount of time, I have to remind myself that I have 9 months to photograph all of these scenes. But some can’t wait. 

I’ve truly never lived somewhere that shows so well every day. It’s like I can’t take a bad photo. Having the anchor of these cliffs in every shot is something I could really get used to. I’ve been notorious for neglecting the land in favor of the sky in my shots, but these rocks refuse to step out of the spotlight. 

I walked over 15 miles my first three days on the island, getting my bearings and taking in the scenery. It’s still hard to believe I’m really here. And that it really is incredible and more than I expected. I knew things were going well when I was a little bit heartbroken over having to leave to go back to Madrid for Orientation. I’ve never been on a blind date, but it kind of feels like my friend J. William Fulbright just wingmanned me into a best-case scenario match. I have the sun, the sea, and the earth in one of its most spectacular forms. Checks all my boxes. 

There and back again

Well, I’m writing this post from a ferry I just barely caught back to Tenerife (the larger island with major airports), where I will catch a bus, then the metro, and then a plane to go back to Madrid for Orientation. While I’m very excited to see Lillian and meet other people in the Fulbright program, I am in a bit of a funk about having to turn around and do all this traveling again so soon. But, on the plus side, I now know where I’m living for a bit, have opened a bank account, got the lay of the land in Valle Gran Rey (through walking ~15 miles in three days), and have made contact with multiple teachers. That makes it all worth it. 

My first look at my new home!

Anyway. Let me talk a bit about arriving!

Upon landing in Tenerife, my wonderful AirBnB host Mari sent her roommate to pick me up from the airport. With as much luggage as I had and how incapable I was of speaking Spanish at that point, I was so relieved to not have to figure out the late night buses or taxis.

packing light is not living my truth

I got to their apartment and collapsed before I could go into full-on breakdown mode, sleeping soundly until my alarm went off at what I thought was 7:45. I woke up disoriented, looking around and realizing it was pitch black outside. I immediately googled “sunrise in Canary Islands”, which told me it should have been happening right around then. Hmm. After thinking on it for a few minutes, I finally realized I had never changed my phone over from Madrid time, which is an hour ahead (the Canaries are 5 ahead of EST, Madrid is 6). Well, thank goodness I didn’t wake up an hour LATE. I may have lost some sleep, but at least I had given myself a huge pad to make my ferry. 

“Why does she need a huge pad?”, you may be wondering. Or, “why is she acting like it’s so hard to take a ferry and then a plane?” Well, let’s just say that planning this trip is NOT for the geographically challenged. When I was booking my flights a couple of months ago, I had a vague awareness that there were two airports on Tenerife—one in the north and one in the south. What I did not realize, however, was that they are SEPARATED BY OVER 50 MILES. And the only port with ferries going to La Gomera is on the southern tip of the island, conveniently located near the—you guessed it!--southern airport. Where am I flying in and out? The northern airport. Which means that I, resident backwoods ignoramus, have to navigate public transportation for that distance.

I tried and failed my first time, running into huelgas, which is the name for what happens every Thursday when public transportation operates on a bare-minimum schedule as workers demand higher pay. I had no idea about this until I got into a desperation taxi (after taking the wrong metro line and ending up in the wrong part of a midpoint city) and the driver patiently explained to me that it didn’t matter anyway—there were only two buses going the long haul south (red line on map) that morning. One had left at 8 am (long gone), and the other wouldn’t leave until 11:30 am (when my ferry was long gone). Did I end up taking a taxi ~45 miles? Yes. Am I proud of it? No. But if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have arrived in Valle Gran Rey until probably ~8 pm. And with just three days there, I wanted to maximize my time. Like I said! Worth it. 

views of Tenerife from my chariot

I arrived on La Gomera a little after noon, completely ragged. I had decided that after my Tenerife taxi incident I would NOT be taking another to save me the ~20 minute walk from the port to my AirBnB. That was the price I had to pay (#self#care). So I gritted my teeth and hauled roughly my weight in luggage off the ferry and down the street, incapable of seeing anything but the finish line in the distance. I’m not saying this entire journey was the hardest physical challenge of my life, but I’m not not saying that. Finally, I made it, hauled my cinderblocks up the stairs and around the corner, took a dumb mirror pic, and collapsed on the terrace. 

When I opened my eyes and saw this view, it hit me: I MADE IT!